


A Man of Honor

by Littlefeather



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Escape, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Post - A Game of Thrones, Romance, Sansa aged up, Sexual Content, sansan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 14:08:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlefeather/pseuds/Littlefeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for nerdling1 for comment fic meme prompt on LJ-"A man of honor can sense it in another man, even if he tries to hide it... Ned realizes in Winterfell that the Hound has no love for Joff, and that despite his gruff demeanor, is actually a man of integrity. After Robert proposes marriage between Sansa and Joff, Ned asks Sandor to vow to protect Sansa while in KL. The night of the Blackwater Battle Sandor comes for a willing Sansa."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Helping the Little bird

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware I have utilized both characterizations and plot design of ASOIAF book canon as well as Game of Thrones TV show elements and tagged this story accordingly.
> 
> All of my fanfics featuring Jaime Lannister will stick to his CANON characterization so there is no need to worry when reading my stories. If ever I feature violence towards women (which is rare for me) I always place an asterisk beside the paragraph and a warning at the beginning of the story. If you ever feel anything needs tagging, please let me know. Your comfort comes FIRST.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa tentatively places her small hand into his much larger calloused one, hesitantly accepting his help with a tremulous smile. Sandor notices how tiny and delicate she is and that she looks him squarely in the face as she smiles up at him.

Watching Joffrey practicing archery with the Stark children in the great practice yard of Winterfell, he can hardly believe a month has passed since the royal caravan arrived at Lord Eddard Stark's seat. The entire trip Sandor looked forward to sparring with the brutal northman he heard so much about his entire life. At the very least he intended to drink as much of their honeyed ale as he could handle and fuck a few whores who weren't afraid of his gruesome scars. Mayhaps he would win the northman's money in games of chance or participate in a tourney Robert would likely hold once he grew bored of Winterfell's barren surroundings.

Instead the Hound has spent most of his time in Winterfell guarding Robert's oldest boy. Sandor has served King Robert as the sworn shield of  the crown prince Joffrey since he was a babe. Sandor finds it difficult to believe the shrewd king he has loyally served and fought beside remains oblivious that his golden boy with blue eyes and cowardly demeanor is everything his father is not. Anyone who isn't blind can see the boy belongs to Cersei's brother, Jaime-though Sandor concedes it is most apparent in looks and most certainly not in disposition.

From outward appearances he seems the perfect handsome prince all the young highborn girls dream about, the hero of the fabled stories of old. The same girls who loved such fairy tales always ran away from Sandor at the same age and later grew into woman who did the same. As much as the young girls swoon over his charge, Sandor sees the unpleasant truth behind the golden exterior.  The lad has inherited the sadistic Lannister nature which makes Sandor's blood run cold, reminding him of his own brother Gregor at the same age. Observing Joffrey's descent into cruelty as he nears adulthood, Sandor now believes he would much preferr a life of battle to the shit he endures daily from the whiny little bastard.

The young prince seems to have taken quite a fancy to the oldest Stark girl, a gentle red haired lass named Sansa. A maid of three and ten, she is already more beautiful than any woman Sandor Clegane has ever seen. He was taken with her the moment he rode into Winterfell.  She was standing in the reception line, her beautiful figure swathed in the traditional Stark colors. With her fiery waist length hair and deep blue eyes sharply contrast to her porcelain skin, Sandor had to force himself to turn away from her.

During his time at Winterfell, he has discovered her beauty goes far beyond her appearance. Sansa is the perfect little lady, always polite and proper, with a kind word for everyone-even Joff's scarred but loyal dog. She is everything he wished for in his younger years but Sandor is painfully aware that a lovely highborn maiden like Sansa is not meant for the second son of a minor house of kennel masters. He reminds himself bitterly of this fact every times he sees her, even when she shyly smiles his way.

He notices Sansa never participates with the others, though her brothers always try to include her in their activities. On the cusp of manhood, they are always offering help and encouragement, and Sandor cannot help but marvel at the difference between them and Gregor. He can tell she prefers standing off to the side, watching everything Joffrey does as though he is her real life Florian made flesh. Watching as she daily tries so very hard to live up to the expectations of her mother and septa inexplicably irritates the man. _Poor little bird, she has no clue Joffrey is a vicious bloodthirsty lion stalking her as his prey, ready to tear her to pieces at the slightest provocation._

The exact opposite of her older sister, the younger dark-haired girl Arya excels in their sports, whether it is sword fighting, archery or darts-much to Sandor and Jaime's amusement. Robert cruelly scolds every one of his son's defeats, even whipping him for allowing the girl to take his sword in one of their mock fights. Sandor thinks it stupid for the fat king to begrudge the girl her victories over his son. Silently he admires Lord Eddard for allowing her to continue playing with the others in spite of his king's protests. Always underfoot, Arya is a favorite among the soldiers and guards alike and he and Jaime often watch the children solely to see what the young girl will do next.

Aiming carefully, Arya sends her arrow straight through Joffrey's placement, splitting it in two and securing her win. Laughing and jumping up and down, she ignores her septa's glares as she slaps hands with her brothers and sister. Joffrey quickly loses his temper, and pushing through the others he angrily shoves her to the ground. While the youngest boy Rickon helps Arya up, the older boy Bran holds her back, fearful she will strike the prince.

Turning to Sansa he bitterly shouts,"How could you root for her against me, you fickle girl?!"

Sandor watches as Sansa blinks back tears, stunned by his outburst. "It is only for sport, my lord. We always play like this-I thought-" she begins before her voice quickly fades as she grows frightened by the fury in Joff's eyes.

Hearing Joffrey's shrill voice echoing in the courtyard, Jaime Lannister comes out of the stables and watches the scene, shaking his head at Sandor.

Heading over to the group, he stands a respectful distance while eying Joffrey closely. There is no telling what the brat will do next and Sandor doesn't want to be too far away when he finds out.

"I'm not afraid of you Joffrey-prince or not! You best be glad my brothers have me-just wait til my father hears about this!" Arya shouts before racing inside the castle.

 _She's feisty, that one_ , Sandor grins in spite of himself.

Smiling, Jaime walks up beside him, "So much like Cersei at that age! I wish Father had let her alone the way Ned lets this one be."

Not to be outdone, Joffrey continues his tirade. "Stupid, backward northern wenches-it isn't decent what your father allows here, you know! Your sister acts like a Wilding!" He sputters.

"Hey, watch how you speak to Lord Stark's daughters!" Jaime shouts, and before Sandor can react Joffrey strikes Sansa squarely in the stomach. The boy's violent outburst takes Sandor by surprise; he did not expect the prince would hurt the girl over such a trivial matter or else he would have placed himself between them.

"Fuck, boy-what is the matter with you?!" He snarls, pushing him away from the girl.

"You want to start an incident here in the north over sport, nephew? You best be glad her older brothers are inside or you'd get a beating. I would have gutted anyone that struck your mother at your age," Jaime yanks Joffrey away from the girl and drags him off to his father.

Sansa lays sprawled out on the ground at Sandor's feet, tears pouring down her reddened cheeks.

Kneeling down to help her, Sandor holds his hand to her. "Here, girl, take my hand."

Sansa tentatively places her small hand into his much larger calloused one, hesitantly accepting his help with a tremulous smile. Sandor notices how tiny and delicate she is, and that she looks him squarely in the face as she smiles up at him. Aside from her tears, the Little bird seems alright; though on closer inspection Sandor notices she is bleeding from a small cut on the head.

Carefully he lifts her to her feet, gently holding her by the waist to steady her as he examines her injury. A sinking feeling wells in his stomach, for Sandor knows full well this will only be the first of many times an argument with Joffrey will end in Sansa bleeding.

"You're all right now Little bird, you're alright," he rasps softly, taking out a handkerchief and dabbing the blood from her temple with a tenderness that surprises the girl.

"You are ever so kind my lord, thank you for your help," she whispers softly.

He pats her lightly on the back and gives her a slight grin before offering his arm and leading her back to her rooms.

* * *

Sandor and Jaime are not the only men in Winterfell watching the interaction between the children. Frowning, Eddard Stark peers down onto the training yard below his solar, observing the entire exchange between Sansa and Joffrey. Infuriated, he starts out the door after the boy and then pauses to look outside one more time.

Amazed, Ned watches as Sandor Clegane, the fiercest and most dangerous man in King Robert's retinue helps his beloved Sansa off the ground and then tenderly cleans the small cut above her eyebrow.

A week has passed since Robert asked for her hand in marriage for his son, even though Sansa has just celebrated her thirteenth nameday. Robert's request was really just a formality; Ned knew his childhood friend expected his assent and in doing so they would join houses through marriage. Once Cersei had given her approval on the match, the matter was settled.

Though he cannot say why, he has felt uncomfortable with the boy ever since he arrived. He and Catelyn only reluctantly agreed to the match on the condition that the wedding would not take place until the children were older. Observing Joffrey's temper tantrum, he regrets giving away his daughter so easily, even to his dear friend and king on the Iron throne.

As Ned silently watches Sandor help Sansa, Arya bursts in shouting with her septa hot on her heels. "Joffrey is mean! Father, he pushed me and Sansa down-and she didn't do nothing!"

He listens intently while she relates the story and then promises to take care of it. After Arya is appeased with the promise of fresh lemoncakes for her and Sansa, he calls Jory Cassel into his solar. "The prince's sword shield Sandor Clegane-I would like a word with him as soon as possible."


	2. Lord Eddard's Request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I watched how you treated my daughter Sansa earlier. I need a man to watch after my dear girl and protect her in King's Landing. I am asking you to do this-if not for my sake or the prince's-then for her own. What say you?"

At his liege lord's command, Jory Cassel bows low and then lingers a moment longer than necessary, his behavior catching Ned's attention, "What says my captain of the guard? Speak up Jory," he asks, motioning for him to sit down.

Brushing his hair away from his face, Jory shrugs his shoulders. "Beg pardons, my lord. I do not wish to question you. It is only that-"

Ned raises his eyebrows, "What? Out with it, man."

"Beg pardon, my lord but Sandor Clegane is a vile, dangerous man. He has done unspeakable things in the service of the Lannisters. He's known as the Hound-a man notoriously ill-tempered and foul mouthed, brutal with respect for no man. To my way of thinking he is not fit to be in you or your family's company, my lord. Even under the guise of offering assistance, he has no right laying a hand on Lady Sansa. I would strike him for daring to touch your daughter."

Smiling, Ned places his hand reassuringly on Jory's shoulder. "I know Jory, I am already well acquainted with him and have been for many years now. I appreciate your concern." Leading him over to the window he points toward Sandor, who is carefully cleaning the blood from Sansa's face. Jory and Ned alike are surprised to see Sansa is not afraid of the fearsome man; instead, she is shyly smiling at him, taking his arm as he leads her toward the castle.

Jory jerks his head back in surprise. "I would not think the Hound had it in him, based on the brutality I have witnessed in him in the practice yard. He beats the men as though his life depends on it."

Ned nods his head slowly. "I know. For all his fearsome reputation, such a man may have honor in him even if he chooses to bury it deep inside to survive, wouldn't you agree? Life in King's Landing is brutal and I would not judge Clegane's way of handling matters there. My gentle girl will need a loyal, honorable friend when she is living in the castle awaiting her marriage."

Jory's face falls suddenly, his pallor paling. "So it is decided then, my lord? Lady Sansa will indeed marry the prince?" He asks weakly. The young man has served Lord Eddard with distriguished service secretly in hopes that one day Lord Eddard would award him Sansa's hand in marriage.

"Yes Jory, it has been decided-though I must say I have my misgivings about the match already. Please, fetch Sandor Clegane for me now-there's a good lad." Ned sits down in his chair, ending the discussion.

* * *

Making his way through the warm granite corridors of Winterfell, Sandor can hardly believe he has such a beautiful lady as Sansa on his arm. Judging by the startled expressions and hushed whispers of passersby, neither can anyone else. He glances down at the Little bird, his face twitching into a small grin.

Squeezing his arm, Sansa smiles up at him brightly, and once again Sandor finds himself completely undone by her beautiful Tully blue eyes looking him straight in the face.

It is perhaps the first time in his life he has enjoyed the attentions of a lovely young woman without any coin exchanging hands. The experience touches a place deep inside his heart the battled hardened man thought long dead. Quickly turns away from her, hoping his eyes will not betray the tender feelings her attentions have sent coursing through his heart.

All too soon they reach the door of her bedchamber. Sandor barks at the young sentry standing guard, "The Little Bird's bleeding. Send for the maester to see to that cut-go now!"

In truth it is no emergency. Sansa is no longer bleeding yet he knows the wound still needs cleaning to prevent infection. He called for the maester primarily to prolong the few precious minutes he has alone with her.

"Thank you Ser for taking care of me and for seeing back to my rooms," Sansa chirps her courtesies to him, ever the proper lady.

"I am no lord and no ser, girl-I spit on their vows," he rasps low but not unkindly.

Then Sansa does something entirely unexpected: she bursts into peels of laughter, the dark hallways echoing her melodic sound in Sandor's ears.

"Think that's funny, do you, girl?" Sandor speaks gruffly, though the twinkle in his eye betrays his amusement.

"Oh, I am so sorry! Pray, please forgive me. I just-it just struck me so funny that a man whose behavior so perfectly reflects that of a true knight would reject them so completely. Forgive my rudeness,  I sometimes speak out of turn. My septa is always trying to teach me to think before I speak-it is a bad habit, I know," she says softly, casting her eyes down, all the while struggling to control herself.

"No, Little bird, don't apologize for saying what you think. I much prefer hearing you now than listening to the mindless courtesies your septa teaches you to chirp on command."

Sansa eyes widen. "Truly-you aren't angry?"

It is Sandor's turn to chuckle now at her scandalized expression. "Yes, truly," he says as he opens her door for her.

Smiling brightly, she turns to him. "Then what shall I call you, if not ser?" She whispers close to his face, afraid someone will overhear their conversation.

"Call me the Hound or dog, like Joff does, my lady."

Knitting her brows, Sansa replies. "Oh no, you are much too good to be called Dog or Hound! I cannot imagine calling you such names."

Good is not a word Sandor is accustomed to hearing himself called; in fact, no one has ever called him good that he can remember. Startled, Sandor stares deep into her eyes, wondering if she is mocking him.

Despite his fearsome appearance, the girl does not exhibit the least bit of fear with him. Instead of teasing him, she appears deep in thought.

Puzzled, Sandor studies her carefully. _No, she is not mocking me, she is still fretting over what to call me._ "You may call me Sandor-it is my given name, after all." He shrugs, secretly thrilled at the prospect of hearing her address him in such a personal manner.

"Sandor," she says, her face lighting up as she tries out the sound of his name on her lips. "Indeed, I will call you Sandor, but it must be our secret. My mother would punish me severely should she hear me address you so informally," she whispers low.

"As you wish, Little bird," he chuckles as she enters her bedchamber.

"Well, Sandor, I must say the prince is ever so fortunate to have a loyal companion such as yourself. Next time we meet I hope you will tell me why you call me Little bird, and I promise to try not to chirp around you." Sansa laughs merrily before closing the door.

As he turns away from her rooms, Sandor is happier than he can ever remember feeling in his life. The burnt side of his mouth twitches into a smile before he is interrupted from his reverie. Lord Eddard's captain of the guards, Jory draws closer, pulling him out of his thoughts; Sandor only remembers him because he has spent nearly every morning the past month thrashing him thoroughly in the training yard.

"Sandor Clegane, Lord Eddard requests your presence at once. Follow me." Jory sharply informs him.

Sighing, Sandor nods his assent and follows the young man to Lord Eddard's solar. _Ned must have heard about Joff pushing Sansa already,_ he thinks to himself irritably.

Jory knocks once, enters and speaks to Ned briefly before admitting Sandor into the spacious sunlit room.

King Robert does not require much in the way of formality from Sandor or his brother Gregor, and it is a strain on him to conform to the courtesies expected of him in the north. Bowing stiffly, Sandor mutters, "My lord," before raising to his full height once more.

"Sandor Clegane. We have met before, you and I. We served together when you were just a lad-I helped with clearing out the forests near King's Landing of rebels for several years after Robert's war."

"Yes my lord, I remember you as well. A long time ago, it seems now," Sandor answers, wishing Ned would get on with it.

"How are you enjoying Winterfell?" Gritting his teeth, Sandor answers, "Fine, my lord. Is there something you wanted besides exchanging pleasantries? I am still on duty."

"You'll keep a civil tongue when addressing my liege lord, Hound!" Jory growls before Ned can reply.

Waving Jory aside Ned observes Sandor a moment, choosing to ignore his lack of manners. "You have never been a man to mince words, Clegane. I have observed you in Robert's company several times over the years. You and your brother have very distinct differences when it comes to serving the king."

Swallowing hard, Sandor fights to control his temper. "Yes, my lord."

Ned walks around the giant weirwood table to face him. "Though you have done many terrible things in Robert's service, I have always thought you have a measure of honor your brother Gregor does not possess."

Sandor can barely contain his fury at the mention of Gregor. "That's the biggest fucking understatement I ever heard, Lord Stark. Honor-knighthood-I spit on all of it! My brother is a fucking monster and yet still was knighted and served the king with your so-called honor!" Sandor clenches his fists. "He bashed that babe's head in you know, before he raped and killed the princess-all in a days work for a knight. Honorable service to his king, my ass." He growls, spitting out his words with venom.

Jory gapes at this unsettling information. He has always romanticized Lord Stark's adventures in Robert's war. Ned wisely spared his men the seedier details of the sack of King's Landing.

Turning away, Lord Eddard shakes his head in disgust at the memory; he was horrified by Robert's behavior with Tywin Lannister that day. Callous, only focused on securing the kingship, he proudly took the battered, lifeless bodies of the young princess and her children as spoils of war. It was then that Ned knew he could not serve his childhood friend in King's Landing.

"I know, Clegane. I found them both later; it was a bloody horrible mess that haunts me to this day." He sighs quietly, plainly sharing Sandor's indignation. "Let us speak plainly. I watched how you treated my daughter Sansa earlier. I must admit you treated her with more respect and honor than a dozen of these so-called knights milling around here. I am not deaf, Clegane-I hear how the men speak of her when she walks through the courtyard of her own home."

Sandor nods, frowning. _At least her father isn't blinded by their chivalrous bullshit. Fuck Robert's knights-Lord Eddard should kill them for speaking of his daughter in such a way._  

"You may not have the necessary courtesies or respect for authority, Clegane, but you are known for your honesty and keeping your word. I'm sure you are aware Robert has betrothed his son Joffrey to Sansa. We will be leaving in a sennight for King's Landing, and Lady Catelyn and I will not be able to stay there with her until the wedding. Robert has promised it won't be for several years yet."

So _Robert made the match for Joff after all-poor Little Bird,_ Sandor snorts, unable to stifle his derision for Ned's misplaced trust in Robert's word.

"From what I have already seen, my daughter will be in dire need of someone who will protect her, watch over her and help her adjust to life in the palace at King's Landing."

 _Get to the point already._ "I couldn't agree more, my lord," rasps Sandor while straightening up, his keen gray eyes meeting Ned's steady gaze.

"Even here in my home you seem to be willing to look after her, Clegane. Do you not fear the prince?"

Sandor coughs. "Me and the prince have an understanding, my lord. I look after him because I am sworn to do so, not because I have any love for the boy. I can do my job just fine without it."

Ned raises an eyebrow. "I expected as much, though your candor about the matter surprises me."

Shrugging, Sandor only grunts his reply.

Ned approaches him. "I think we understand each other, Sandor Clegane. I need a man to watch after my dear girl and protect her in King's Landing. You can see she is a delicate and kind child, innocent and trusting. I am asking you to do this-if not for my sake or the prince's-then for her own. What say you?"

Staring at the marble floor, Sandor mulls over Ned's request. It may mean his head but he knew from the moment he realized what Ned was getting at he would never be able to refuse helping the Little bird. Watching over her will be pleasurable pain, of this he is certain.

"Aye Lord Stark, I will watch over the lass," he growls low, desperately trying to maintain his usual disinterested expression.

Narrowing the distance between them, Ned looks Sandor deep in the eyes, "Swear to me, Clegane, by the old gods and the new that you will protect my beloved Sansa-swear it."

His eyes softening, Sandor returns Ned's solemn expression and nods curtly. "I keep no gods, Lord Eddard, but I swear on my sister's grave to protect your daughter Sansa, by any means necessary. You have my word."

Relief spreads across Ned's face. "That greatly eases my mind Clegane-and I thank you." Reaching behind his great stone desk, Ned produces a new Valyrian steel greatsword and presents it to Sandor. "May this be a symbol of the promise between us, Clegane, and a token of my gratitude for your service to my family."

Taken aback, Sandor carefully holds the sword, measuring its balance. He has never held so fine a weapon, let alone owned one that even came close to the craftsmanship of the sword in his hands. At a loss for words, Sandor can only nod for a moment before rasping out, "Thank you, my Lord."

Ned smiles, "No, thank you, Sandor. May the gods look kindly on you for looking after my girl."

Turning quickly, Sandor strides out of the solar and down the hall before leaning against the granite wall, peering at the door of the Little bird's room. "What the fuck did I just get myself into?" He growls to himself, lightly running his fingers across her door. Hearing movement inside, he steps away from the door before hurriedly making his way toward the courtyard.


	3. Finding the Honor Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned could never have predicted the series of tragic events that would eventually unfold and leave Sansa the lone wolf among the lions.

Over the course of the following year, Sandor found himself asking that same question many times. Protecting the Little bird has involved far more than he could have possibly imagined when he stood in Ned's solar and vowed to protect his daughter from the Lannisters by any means necessary. Lord Eddard must have expected that it would be a daunting task which is the very reason he sought out his help to begin with-and that Valyrian sword would come at a steep price.

Despite all the trials the girl has been through, Sandor has never regretted his promise. Time and again he has witnessed her grace under extreme hardship. Sansa's kindheartedness and iron will has reassured him he made the right decision in vowing to protect such a gentle yet strong young woman. Ned could never have predicted the series of tragic events that would eventually unfold and leave Sansa the lone wolf among the lions. Shortly after their conversation, King Robert made Lord Eddard the Hand of the King and dispatched him to King's Landing along with his daughters.

Initially he thought watching Sansa would mean acting as a second set of eyes for Ned and perhaps helping her anticipate and avoid the perils of life among the Lannisters. Sandor never dreamed that in a few months' time of making his promise, King Robert would be dead and Lord Eddard would be executed by his little shit for a son Joffrey. Matters only progressed from bad to worse after that debacle: the Little bird's sister went missing and her eldest brother Robb proclaimed himself King of the north. Eventually he captured the king's uncle Jaime Lannister, leaving Sansa alone in King's Landing as leverage against the Starks in the game of thrones.

Throughout the ordeal Sandor has often wondered what possessed him to make such a vow to Lord Eddard in the first place. _House Clegane has been in service to the Lannisters for several generations. At the time I was the crown prince's sworn shield for fuck's sake-why in Seven Hells did Ned ever entrust me with the protection of his beloved daughter?_ If Sandor indeed ever had honor to begin with, he has long since buried it in his heart. The day Gregor held his face over the fire, more than just his face scarred; he hardened his heart to everyone and everything and vowed never to care again. _How did Ned recognize honor in the brutal Hound everyone saw? How did a man I barely know see this trait when I cannot?_ Sandoris both unable and unwilling to see honor in himself and has questioned Lord Eddard's judgement ever since that day.

He desperately longs to deserve being the man she seeks for protection and comfort, if he only knew how. When he closes his eyes at night he likes replaying the way she jumped out of her seat and openly cheered for him the day of the Hand's tourney. Her bright blue eyes sparkling, the rose the Knight of Flowers gave her lay forgotten in her lap as she clapped delightedly. Sandor thought his heart would burst out of his chest with pride that day, a feeling he has enjoyed precious few times in his life. He would gladly give anything to experience it again on behalf of the Little bird.

During the celebration of Joffrey's name day, he recalls the quiet desperation on her face as she sought his help covering her outburst over Joffrey's treatment of Ser Dontos. Ever the delicate child, her face reflected abject terror when he participated in the blood sport, only seeming to relax when he returned to his post next to Joffrey. From the first day she arrived in King's Landing, he has wished he could do more to help her. The guilt he feels watching her tormented by Joffrey drives him into his wineskin every chance he gets. The Little Bird haunts him nightly in his fevered wine dreams and the once hardened Hound has discovered he no longer finds comfort anywhere but in her presence.

Oftentimes when he's been drinking heavily, he remembers the day her father was executed. Sansa, his beautiful gentle girl was distraught, crying, pleading with Joffrey for mercy-and that sick little fuck only seemed to feed off of her despair even to the disgust of the queen. Desperate for anyone to come to her father's aid, she had begged him with her eyes for help. He had been helpless to stop the king. Overwrought with grief, she crumbled like the petals of a beautiful wilted flower at Varys' feet. Surrounded by the Lannisters, Sandor could only stand by,unable to prevent the inevitable. Watching her anguish sent an excruciating pain straight to his heart that proved every bit as agonizing as his burns. Remembering that day makes him feel ill with shame-like the worst fucking whoreson imaginable.

A little caged bird alone in the den of lions, he notices she is often withdrawn now that her father is gone. Yet Sansa always brightens up and smiles when she catches sight of him. Sansa may very well be the only person that has ever looked happy to see him or sought him out for help and friendship. If he is honest with himself, the subtle influence she has on his life has changed him. Somehow, over time she has managed to break away his defenses.

Where once he found her company a pleasant diversion in his day, now he finds any reason large or small to seek her out and spend time with her. The sweet pain he anticipated he would feel watching out for her daily has given way to the most powerful feeling he has ever known excepting his hatred for Gregor. Love for his precious Little bird consumes him and Sandor finds his heart aches when he is away from her. His feelings are an entirely new experience that both surprise him and leave him bitter, knowing he will never have his Little bird all to himself, that she is meant to be the wife of that sadistic little fuck of a king.

Late at night when everything is still in the Red Keep, he acknowledges the true reason he made his vow to Lord Eddard as he stands guard in front of the Little bird's cage. Deep inside there is a part of him that wants to be the true knight his beautiful Sansa smiled at the day Joffrey hurt her in Winterfell, the honorable man she looked in the face with trust. He longs to always be the man who will ease her sufferings as he did that day.  The pain and embarrassment of Joff's outburst was long forgotten in his presence and the Little Bird laughed merrily as she walked arm in arm with him back to her rooms. He would give anything to have that with her every day, until the end of time.

More than anything Sandor longs to find the man of honor Lord Eddard recognized within him. He is determined to find a way to keep the promise made to her father. “By any means necessary,” he swore to him, and if it is the last fucking thing he does in his miserable life, he will honor his word and keep her safe.


	4. For the Love of Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recognition spreads across Sansa's face as she stares into his smouldering eyes. "Is-is there another reason you look out for me besides the promise you made my father?"

Among the royal court, Sandor stands next to Joffrey with the rest of the Kingsguard. Diligently concealing his true feelings for her has become an increasingly difficult task. Joffrey's similarities to Gregor continue to manifest themselves in newer, more vile acts of sadism, elevating Sandor's fury with each new loathsome act.

A week past Joffrey had his pretty Little bird publicly stripped and beaten as Sandor and the rest of the court looked on. Her lovely eyes filled with tears as each blow of Meryn's blade blistered angry red welts on her porcelain skin. Sansa stared at him the entire time, silently begging for his intervention.

When Meryn ripped her dress away from her body, his blind rage reached frightening proportions. At one point he actually considered striking both the boy and Meryn down where they stood before reason took over. Ultimately such an action would lead to his certain death, leaving no one to watch over her. Unable to stay silent, he called for an end to it and defied the king before all. The Imp showed up and whisked her away before Joffrey had time to react, only angering the boy king all the more.

Standing idly by and watching Joff's whims carried out on his beloved Sansa has exacted a terrible toll on Sandor. The frequency of his drinking binges reflects his growing shame and misery. Drunk on the steps on the serpentine the night before, he harshly scolded her for refusing to look him in the face anymore. Gripping her chin tightly, he forced her to face him, all the while growling that there are no true knights. For the first time he saw fear in her eyes brought on by his own behavior.

Now sober, he is full of remorse and angry he has fucked up the trust they so delicately began building together that cold day long ago in Winterfell. He has patiently waited outside her rooms for what feels like hours to him-it is already midday and she still has yet to emerge. Sandor is just about ready to leave when he hears her heavy oak door quietly creak open. Cautiously, she peeks out into the hall and then motions for him to come inside.

Stepping into her rooms quickly, Sandor turns to face her and finds himself unable to speak in awe of her great beauty. Her dark auburn hair glints in the sunlight hanging loose to her waist in the northern style. The deep blue gown she is wearing turns her eyes the color of the Blackwater rush.

"Sandor, I hoped I would see you today," she says softly, smiling tremulously at him while barring the door and thus preventing any unwanted intrusions on their conversation.

His courage fails him, Sandor finds himself unable to face her after his drunken rant and instead he fixes his sharp gray eyes on a spot in her carpet.

"How are you feeling this afternoon?" Sansa quietly asks, placing a hand tentatively on his arm.

"Fuck, girl-slap me or curse me or something-anything, but for the love of the Seven don't treat me kind after how I acted," he mutters, turning away from her.

Sansa watches him thoughtfully for a moment and then smiles and tries again, gently touching his arm once more."I know you were not yourself last night; still I thought over what you said. I guess I am a 'foolish bird', as you say, for continuing to expect people here to treat me with respect. I cannot imagine why I have, especially since my father is painted as a traitor and my brother is at war with the king."

He could kick himself for calling her that. Sansa has matured into a kind and beautiful woman since she came to live among the lions a year and a half ago. Shaking his head, Sandor keeps his eyes fixed firmly on his feet. "There's nothing wrong for expecting grown men to not beat the shit out of you, Little bird. They're fucking cowardly sons of bitches, all of them. Now you know why I spit on knights. I'm sorry you've learned it the hard way."

Laughing humorlessly, Sandor finally turns and looks in her eyes. "I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of but that mess tops it all. I stood by and watched that little shit have Meryn beat you and strip you in court-and after I promised your father I would protect you. What does that make me?"

"Oh, no Sandor I don't compare you to those men! How could you even suggest such a thing? If you helped me they would have killed you and-" Sansa's voice trails off as tears threaten to fall.

"And what?" He asks, turning toward her.

"And, well, I would be all alone here," she whispers, wringing her hands with downcast eyes. "When did you promise my father you would protect me?" 

Sandor sighs and slouches down into a chair next to the bed. "In Winterfell, Little bird. What a bloody good job I've done of it too, wouldn't you say?" He laughs bitterly, running his hand across his forehead.

Sansa closes her eyes, holding the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger: Sandor remembers her father had the same habit when he was deep in thought. "I am still alive, aren't I? You could have let me kill Joffrey."

Crossing the room, Sandor jerks her close to him. "Quiet, girl! Even the walls have ears around here."

Leaning back in his arms, she stares at him with a look Sandor cannot recognize. "I _know_   you stopped me by pretending you were wiping the blood away from my face. You _saved_   me even though you are sworn to protect him," she leans in closer and whispers while resting her hands above his heart.

Spinning away from her, he slumps onto the bed, rubs his head and stares at the ground. Slowly she warily approaches him and tenderly lifts his chin so she can meet his gaze. "You saved me _many_ times since that day-I remember each and every time you have stepped in between me and Joffrey, just as you said you would. You have kept your word. Last week-admit it, there was just no way to avoid it without getting us both killed, Sandor. I would rather take any beating Joffrey orders rather than have something happen to you, you must believe that."

Sandor grabs her wrist in an iron grip. "Damn it, don't ever say such things again girl, I mean it," he rasps threateningly, though his eyes betray a warm emotion Sansa has never seen in them before.

Wrenching away from him she cries, "Don't tell me what I can or cannot say, Sandor. I am not ashamed to admit I care for you. I cannot bear to lose you-the only man I trust! You are my only friend here! Why should my saying so upset you so much?" Recognition spreads across Sansa's face as she stares into his smouldering eyes. "Is-is there another reason you look out for me besides the promise you made my father?"

Roaring in frustration, Sandor overturns her breakfast table, sending a bowl of fruit crashing to the floor before facing her. Sansa recoils from his passionate outburst.

Shae taps softly on the door. "Everything alright, milady?"

Sansa pauses to compose herself. "Yes, yes Shae, only a small accident."

"I'll clean it up at once milady," Shae replies.

"No, that will not be necessary, it is just a broken bowl and some fruit. I am not feeling well. Please, take the rest of the day off, I wish to be alone." Sansa affects the tone Cersei uses to indicate a matter is not up for debate.

"As you wish, milady. I will check on you before bedtime."

Backing away as Sandor draws closer to her, she calmly replies,"That is very thoughtful, thank you."

"Still scared of the scarred old dog, eh?" Sandor hisses at her, his breathing becoming ragged as he grabs her by the shoulders. "Fuck Girl, are you blind? Can you not see what I feel for you? Can't you see what it's doing to me?!" He growls, his eyes glittering with passion as he holds her. Turning away, he curses himself before sinking down onto the edge of her bed, holding his head in his hands.

"I have never been afraid of you, Sandor-well, that's not entirely true. I should say that I did not fear you once I got to know you. It is only when you are full of wine that I am afraid-and I am not just afraid of you but for you. Can you not understand? You are so...so very different than your normal self."

Sandor shakes his head. "Have you ever thought maybe that fucking bastard is the real me?"

Smiling sadly, Sansa surprises him by casually sitting on his knee as though such a thing is a natural everyday occurance between them.

Cupping the burnt side of his cheek, she turns his face toward her. "I am not blind, Sandor," she whispers softly. "I have suspected you cared for quite some time. Why did you not tell me?"

He raises his eyebrow but does not move away. "What-and give that little shit a reason to remove my head from my shoulders? Not likely, that."

"You honestly believe that I would have told _Joffrey_ of all people?" Sansa holds his gaze with saddened regard. His stormy eyes are so full of pain it takes her breath away; then the mask reappears and he shrugs gruffly.

"Are you so blind you cannot see what _I_  feel for you?" She whispers, stroking his face before pulling Sandor in closer and tentatively pressing her lips to his.

"Don't toy with me, Little bird," he whispers hoarsely against her mouth before deepening the kiss further and pulling her body flush against his.

"I would never," Sansa gasps in between kisses. Pulling away slightly, she pulls him back down onto the bed with her. "I love you Sandor, I do." she whispers, caressing his cheek and down his neck to the lacing of his tunic. Agonizing disbelief fills his face so she repeats herself while looking into his eyes. "I love you."

Sandor suddenly pulls away from her. "As I love you, Little bird." he says quietly. "Fuck, see what you've turned me into woman? Listen to me, I sound like the fucking Knight of Flowers now-all I need is a damned rose to finish me off," He rubs his hand across his jaw, a dark fury clouding his features. "I can't fucking stand by and watch you marry that little shit, Sansa-I won't, you hear me?" Sandor chokes out, his voice gravelly with bitterness and grief.

Sansa reaches up, and drawing his face back to hers, she tenderly kisses him.  Slowly Sansa deepens the kiss as she parts her lips and sweeps her tongue across his own. "Sandor, you long for what is already yours."

Blinking several times, Sandor stares at her as though seeing her for the first time."What about your fairy tale prince? Are you really ready to throw him over?"

  
Placing her arms around his neck, she pulls closer to him. "I saw Joffrey for who he was not long after our betrothal. I am yours as you are mine. No matter what lies ahead in this life, I will never be Joff's wife, I swear it."

"Then fuck them all," Sandor growls before kissing her lips with a desperate hunger. Breathless, a small whimper escapes Sansa's lips as he trails warm kisses down her neck and along the tops of her bodice before unwrapping the the bodice of her gown and resting his face between her ivory breasts. After deeply inhaling her lavender scent, he heatedly traces his tongue over her delicate curves.

Looking down at her soft beautiful body, it would be so easy-too easy, in fact, to let himself surrender to his passion. His mind reminds him he is sworn to keep her safe, even from himself. Abruptly moving away from her, he raises up from the bed and keeps her at arms length, knowing just one more touch, one more taste of her will be his undoing.

"What is it? What is wrong?" Sansa whispers, her eyes still dazed with desire.

"Sansa, there is nothing I want more than you, believe that. But right now I have to stop or else I'll end up doing more than you're ready for."

Sansa rises and takes his hand in hers. "But I _am_ ready, Sandor," she says, reaching up to touch his face.

He grabs her wrist a little more roughly than he intends and kisses her hand. "I know you _feel_ ready, Little bird, but look around you-we're in your fucking room in the Red Keep for the Seven's sake! You deserve better than this. I want to give you something more, Little bird."

She shakes her head to protest but Sandor presses a finger to her lips, silencing her. "No, Sansa, no. What if I got you with child-have you thought of that? You think your life is hell now-how the fuck do you think Joff and the queen would react then?"

Her cheeks reddening, Sansa looks away, embarrassed that she had not thought of that. The wonderful feeling of his kisses chased away all reasonable thought from her mind, making her feel wanton and warm all over. The feeling is so new and delicious that all Sansa knows is that she wants more of him, more of everything with him, no matter the cost.

"We'll have our chance, Sansa. Listen to me: you must be patient. We'll wait for the right time and then I'll take you far away from here, I swear it."

Eyes widening, Sansa can hardly believe his words. He wants to leave King's Landing-and take her with him? Delighted, she throws her arms around him before he can stop her.

Sandor squeezes her close for a moment and then gently but firmly pushes her away. "No, Little bird-any more of you and I'll break," he says quietly, and she smiles in spite of herself. Unbarring the door, he turns and plants one last almost chaste kiss on her lips before storming out of her room, refusing to look behind him as he hurries down the hall.


	5. A Slip of the Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He did it because she unknowingly has helped him find the honor buried deep within him, turning him into the man she saw when she looked at him so long ago in Winterfell. For these reasons and many more, he will deliver her from the lion's den and gladly spend the rest of his life keeping her safe and happy, if only she will have him.

In the following weeks, a thick oppressive air cloaks King's Landing in a dangerous shroud. Starved from war and disease, rioting peasants fill the streets as rebellion against Joffrey's tyranny spreads to the outskirts of Flea Bottom and beyond. Messages from the High Septon in the Great Sept of Baelor reaches the king daily, pleading with him to provide relief for the people. Every day Joffrey resolutely ignores all counsel, increasing the brutality of his reign of terror in hopes fear of reprisal will subdue the people once and for all.

Inside the castle walls, palpable tension seeps into every interaction, making Sansa more vulnerable than ever to Joffery's temperamental flares. The unrelenting stress takes its toll on Joffrey and he responds by violently and cruelly reacting to even the slightest annoyance.

Sandor knows the Imp and the queen expect Stannis Baratheon's fleet to strike within the next few days or they would never risk leaving the castle to send the sweet princess Myrcella away, even under the guise of her betrothal to a prince in Dorne. He was not fooled by their pretense and neither where any on the other members of the Kingsguard. Now is the time to look for their chance to escape, of this he is certain.

Watching the young princess sail away, Sandor overhears Joffrey berating his younger brother Tommen crying for his sister. "Little sadistic fuck-just like Gregor," he mutters under his breath.

"I saw you cry," he hears the Little bird say softly, kindly trying to blunt Joffrey's harsh words to his brother.

"Did you say something, my lady?" The king snaps, quickly turning to face her.

Hesitantly she continues, carefully watching Joffrey. "My little Brother cried when I left Winterfell. It seems the normal thing."

Bearing his teeth, he hisses, "Is your little brother a _prince_?"

"No," she stammers, glancing around her in fear. Sandor sees Meryn glaring at her as well.

"Not really relevant then, is it?" Joffrey grumbles. "Come Dog," he barks at Sandor, heading away from the shore. Pausing a moment, Sandor needs to gather himself or else he is certain he will give into his rage and gut Joffrey for his hateful words. Meryn nudges him and Sandor begrudgingly follows, unable and unwilling to hide the bitter scowl on his face as he walks behind the king.

A large crowd presses in around them, watching the royal family send off the princess in luxury even as they continue to starve.

"Hail Joffrey! Hail to the king!" A lone man shouts, hoping the king will hear his words and give attention to his people. "Seven blessings on you, your Grace." Others soon join in. "All hail the king!"

"Please, your Grace, we're hungry!"  A man cries desperately, raising a murmur through the crowd.

"Please your Grace, we're hungry!" Another woman shouts while cradling a whimpering infant at her breast. Sensing the ire of the people, Sandor keeps his eyes keened on their surroundings as they make their way back to the castle.

Reaching the Red Keep, the gaunt and diseased crowd grows restless with the royal family. Desperate for Joffrey to release the food stores reserved for the army and alleviate their suffering, the peasants rush the king. One individual throws a well-aimed cow pie that strikes Joffrey squarely in the temple.

"Find who did that and bring them to me!" He shrieks, his voice made shrill with fury. "Kill them, kill them all!"

Suddenly the angry crowd surges toward the royal family and Sandor and the rest of the Kingsguard are now in the middle of a full scale riot. Gripping the king tightly with one arm, Sandor hacks his way through the crowd, desperately seeking Sansa in the melee as he drags Joffrey along. The boy kicks and struggles futilely against him. Delivering Joffrey to Meryn, Sandor's heart races with fear for her. Mercilessly he slashes a path back through the crowd, cutting down anyone in his way as he frantically searches for his Little bird.

Following her screams, he finds her sprawled out in the chaff of the threshing room floor. Sandor finds Sansa is being held down by three men tugging at her legs and gown, attempting to violate her, the sight flooding the man with an intense blood lust stronger than anything he had ever before experienced in all his years of battle.

The rage he has suppressed toward Joffrey combines with his pent-up frustration being unable to protect Sansa as he promised Ned and unleashes a tidal wave of fury surging through Sandor's blood. Quickly he dispatches her attackers within a few feet of where she lays with frightening brutality, leaving a trail of dismembered body parts and trickling currents of blood in his wake.

Not wanting to terrorize Sansa any further, Sandor keeps his face turned away from her while trying in vain to erase the blood lust and rage in his countenance before hoisting her over his shoulder.

"You're alright now Little bird, you're alright," he says softly, his gentle tone in sharp contrast to the brutality he wrought on her attackers moments earlier.

Shaking violently and desperately clinging to his white cloak, she does not want Sandor to release her in spite of everyone around them, needing his touch and strength to still her terror. Setting her down carefully next to Tyrion, her handmaidens scurry to her aid as the Imp looks on in amazement.

"Someone take the Little bird back to her cage and see to that cut," Sandor rasps, unable to disguise the concern in his face and voice seeing her battered appearance. A moment too late he realizes he used his pet name for her in front of the Imp.

Using every ounce of his self-control Sandor turns away from her, lest his behavior arouse the Imp's curiosity any further. "Well done, Clegane," he calls after Sandor, watching him carefully.

Unable to remain silent, Sandor turns and growls with ill-concealed rage, "I didn't do it for you," before heading back into the crowd, leaving Tyrion gaping in surprise.

Among the din of the crowd Sandor overhears soldiers sharing the story: despite Tyrion's pleading, Joffrey refused to send Meryn or indeed anyone to help Sansa, much to the shock of his men.

"Let them have her!" he had shouted at Tyrion. None of the men knew what to do.

Given the chance Sandor will make sure those bastards pay dearly for their cowardice and allowing his Little bird to be injured. This incident is just one in a series of reasons for his mounting hatred for the Lannisters and the knights. No, he most certainly did not rescue her for the shit-faced Lannisters or that little inbred monster Joffrey. He did not do it for honor, duty or obligation to Ned Stark.

He did it for Sansa, his beloved Little bird, and for her alone. Sandor did it for her innocence, her love for him, and for the changes she has wrought on his mind and heart. He did it because she unknowingly has helped him find the honor buried deep within him, turning him into the man she saw when she looked at him so long ago in Winterfell. For these reasons and many more, he will deliver her from the lion's den and gladly spend the rest of his life keeping her safe and happy, if only she will have him.

Later the next day, she seeks him out while he is guarding her rooms. Shyly she smiles at him and says, "I've should have come to you after, to thank you for saving me. You were so brave."

Noticing Varys' spies creeping in the shadows of a nearby alcove, Sandor answers acerbically, "Brave? A dog doesn't need courage to chase off rats." Despite the necessity of his harsh  tone he instantly regrets his sarcasm, changing her shy demeanor into bitter disappointment in a moment.

Silently bidding her to follow his gaze, Sandor glances over toward the alcove suggestively.

Catching his meaning, she follows his line of sight and recognizes the danger lurking in the stairwell. "Does it give you joy to scare people?" She retorts angrily, her affectionate look belying her harsh reply.

The conversation degrades further, each unable to express themselves under the scrutiny of the castle spies. Before she turns to leave, Sandor leans in close. "You'll be glad of the hateful things I do someday, when I'm all that stands between you and your beloved King," and with these words he allows his tone to betray his true feelings for a split second.

Understanding fills her lovely eyes; even as the spies look on, he is reassuring her of his love and commitment to protect her. The entire situation weighs heavily on her heart, fraying her nerves and yet Sandor's brief words strengthen her determination to survive this ordeal. She only hopes it will not be too much longer before they are free at last-free to love each other as she so desperately desires.

Matters continue to deteriorate as Sansa's moonblood arrives the following morning, elevating her anxiety even further. Alone in her room, she stares out over Blackwater Bay, the sunlight sparkling on its surface as the sun sinks over the horizon. Lost in thought, fear chokes out everything but her anxiety. If they do not leave soon, she will be forced to marry Joffrey and bear his children. She would sooner die than breed offspring for the king who murdered her father.

Gentle tapping on her door draws her out of her thoughts.  Slowly opening it she finds Sandor is waiting on the other side. Peeking around outside she pulls him into her room by the arm, "Did anyone see you?" she asks worriedly.

"No, the other guards went off duty."

Smiling, she wraps herself around his waist as she feels his strong arms reach around her. "I am so glad to see you! My love, thank you so very much for saving me from those men."

Laughing bitterly, Sandor turns away."Do you think I have I saved you, girl-truly? I _betrayed_   you by showing my feelings for you-can't you see that? Why the fuck do you think Varys' spies were here today? Tyrion must suspect my feelings-fucking Imp, I knew I should've killed him years ago!"

Shaking his head he continues bitterly, his works tasting like bile on his tongue. "I had to take you to Cersei today. If she had found you trying to hide that mattress she would have had you and Shae killed on the spot. I am endangering you, Sansa, and yet at the same time I'm unable to resist the urge to come to you. Fuck me, I'll be the death of us both!"

Hearing his guilt and anguish weighs heavily on her heart. Sighing, she leads him over to her bed, sitting him down beside her. "I'd rather it be you here with me than anyone, Sandor. Why can you not just accept that I love you and will gladly take whatever comes as a result? I know you think I am unable to be with you due to the differences in station. My heart is bound to you, Sandor and I will love no other, whether or not you will have me."

"I promised your father and myself that I would keep you safe. I owe you that, Little bird-whatever my feelings may be. This is the last time I will see you today," he says hesitantly, knowing it may well be the last time he ever sees her in this life. Stannis' troops have been reported off the coast of Blackwater Bay and will arrive by midnight. He will be forced to protect the king during the battle.

"What? Why?" Sansa asks, trembling in fear at his dark expression.

"Stannis will be here tonight and I will have to protect the king. Stay in Maegor's Holdfast, no matter what happens-do you hear me? Promise me you will do this. You'll be safe there. Swear to me you won't leave. I'll come for you as soon as I can."

Cold fear clouds her thinking but slowly she nods her assent. "I promise, Sandor. I swear it on the old gods and the new. I will pray for you all night, my love."

Smiling bitterly, he doesn't have the heart to remind her he doesn't believe in the gods. "You do that, Little bird, I am sure if they would listen to anyone's prayers it will be yours."

A tense silence stretches between them, each lost in deep contemplation and fear as to what the evening will bring for them. Reaching for his arms she pulls them around her waist, draws him down onto the bed with her and snuggles her back against his chest. "Let's not talk of it anymore-just hold me Sandor, please," she whispers and he does, gently kissing her cheek and neck, inhaling her scent and reveling in the feel of her body against his.

"I love you Sansa," he chokes out hoarsely and she presses closer into him, dreading the twilight of evening that settles over the bay outside.

"As I love you, Sandor."


	6. Sandor's Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You may never be mine, Sansa, but I will always love you. You best believe I'll come back," he whispers before pulling her body flush against him and heatedly kissing her once more.

As the dark of night shrouds King's Landing, black storm clouds churn up from the north and bring a cold driving rain upon the city. Curled up securely in her downy feather bed, Sandor awakens to the dull pattering of raindrops on the balcony of her room. Stroking her cheek, he gently tries rousing her from slumber. Her eyes suddenly flutter open and as she focuses on his face she smiles and snuggles closer to him.

Squeezing Sansa close to his chest, he whispers in her ear,"Time for me to go, Little bird."

Fear chokes her voice, her sudden anxiety for his safety rendering her speechless. Despair fills her face, and all she can do is nod as she begins sobbing quietly, hot tears streaming down her face.

"None of that now, Little bird." he says quietly, wiping her cheek with the rough pad of his index finger. "Wait for me here, promise me."

Throwing her arms around his neck, she tenderly covers his faces in kisses. "Yes I will, I promise." Turning serious, Sansa holds his face in her hands, caressing his cheek tenderly as she stares deep into his eyes. "You _will_ come back to me, Sandor." she says confidently. "I know you will. I will pray for you all night my love. My father will watch over you in battle."

Her voice is brave and steady and Sandor feels reassured in spite of himself. "You do that, Sansa." The burned side of his face twitches into a half smile; he does not have the heart to mock her belief in the gods at such a time as this.

"Sandor, I...I love you with all my heart. Come back to me-you must, my love," she whispers, covering his mouth with her own with a deep, passionate kiss.

"Woman, I'll never leave at the rate we're going," he grins, trying to affect a light tone in his voice. Brushing her hair away from her eyes, he adds more seriously, "I love you too, Little Bird-I have loved you since that day in Winterfell."

Smiling, she pulls him close to her and runs her fingers through his hair. Deep agonizing regret clouds his heart; her declarations of love touch him deeply but he knows they are in an impossible situation. Sansa is a dutiful highborn that was never meant for the likes of him and they will never be allowed to be together the way he wishes. The most he can allow himself to hope for is serving as her sworn shield until her family marries her off to some other high lord who will appreciate her no more than Joffrey.

"You may never be mine, Sansa, but I will always love you. You best believe I'll come back," he whispers before pulling her body flush against him and heatedly kissing her once more.

Shaking her head sadly she continues caressing his face. "You must believe in my love, Sandor. I belong to you and you alone. One day you will no longer doubt my love for you, I swear it."

Opening the door he turns to her one last time. "This is the last time I will leave you here in this room, Little bird, I promise." Before she can reply he pulls her close once more, then turns and walks down the hall, not daring to look back at her.

* * *

Upon entering the throne room Sandor is greeted by Joffrey's shrill voice calling out to him. "Dog! Where have you been? Meryn and the others have been searching all over for you."

Sneering, Sandor turns to the boy king, sarcasm seeping into his tone. "I was fucking my last wench before the war. A man needs to get his blood up for battle, you know. Is that answer enough, your Grace?" Meryn and the other men erupt in laughter.

Startled, Joffrey casts a glance at the soldiers, then purses his lips together, his mouth hardening into a thin line. "My Uncle Stannis awaits us in Blackwater Bay as we speak. Did you not consider you may have more important things to do, dog?"

Shrugging, Sandor rasps, "No, I think my fuck came at just the right time, your Grace." More laughter rises up from the assembled crowd.

Jumping up from the throne, Joffrey hisses, "Which wench did you bed, dog? Meryn saw you not far from my lady's quarters several hours ago-do you deny it?" The din of the room is suddenly silenced and Sandor feels all eyes are on him now.

"If you must know I fucked her handmaiden, the tawny one-she came at a steep price, too. I wouldn't say I bed her, especially since I took her in the alcove." Nervous laughter echoes throughout the cavernous throne room. The Imp turns to him with a look of surprise but Sandor looks straight ahead, ignoring him. He has known for quite some time Tyrion keeps the girl in his rooms hidden from Cersei but he couldn't care less; he should have killed him a long time ago and he owes him one for sending Varys' spies.

Turning to face Meryn, he continues, "Of course I was near Lady Sansa's rooms-that is where I expected to find the wench. And besides we are about to go to war and I have heard the way most of the men here speak of your lady. As your sworn shield it is my duty to see your assets are protected, your Grace. She is quite secure, rest assured."

Glaring at the men, Joffrey nods curtly at Sandor, "Well, see that she is. Come, dog, we have preparations to oversee." Walking out of the throne room, Joffrey glances behind him, making sure Sandor and the others follow.

Awaiting the Baratheon fleet on the battlements, Sandor scans the water line on the horizon, straining his eyes for the first signs of the invaders. The air is thick with smoke from the lanterns, nearly obscuring the first shadow of the approaching warships.

"Hold fast!" Tyrion shouts as Sandor steps forward for a better look.

"What are you doing? We need to attack them!" Joffrey petulantly whines at his uncle at the sight of Stannis' ships.

"Hold fast," Tyrion authoritatively intones, and to Joffrey's surprise the men heed his uncle's command rather than obey their king.

"There is only one ship-where are the rest of them? Where are the rest of them?!" Panic raises in Joffrey's voice, annoying Sandor all the more.

Confused, Sandor turns to see the ancient Lannister pyromancer ease his way up the steps of the battlement and hand Tyrion a lit torch. A wicked smile spreads across the old man's grizzled face as he nods to Tyrion and watches as he drops the torch onto the sand below. With a deafening hiss, green wildfire erupts across the surface of Blackwater Bay. The night sky is illuminated by the deadly explosion, completely engulfing the Baratheon fleet and reducing the men and ships to smoldering ash in a matter of minutes.

Gasping, Sandor recoils, horrified by the brutality of the weapon and sickened that Tyrion would unleash an inferno on an entire fleet of men. _Only cowards fight with fire_. A superheated blast of smoky air envelopes the battlements moments later, the concussive shockwave of the explosion rocking the Red Keep. Hearing the screams of the burning men takes Sandor's breath away. The acrid stench triggers his memories of being burned by Gregor and a sickening dread overwhelms his senses as he watches the deadly scene unfold before him.

Out of the smoky ruins appears the second wave of troops led by Stannis himself paddling ferociously toward the shore, eager to wreck havoc on those who wildfire on their brothers in arms.

"He's a serious man, this Stannis Baratheon," Tyrion grimly remarks, watching the first of the soldiers breach the shore.

Sandor watches Joffrey closely, knowing the boy is about to come face to face with the very brutal consequences of the war he began the day he executed Ned Stark. "They're coming ashore-there are too many!" Panic distorts Joffrey's face at the realization.

"Rain fire on them," Tyrion commands in response, eying his nephew's cowardice with derision. Sandor cannot help feeling a smug sense of justice for Sansa as he witnesses Joffrey's terror.

"Hound, form a welcome party for any Baratheon troops that manage to touch solid ground." Relieved to be rid of Joffrey's sniveling and the Imp, he leaves to gather his men, not even bothering to wait for Joffrey's reply.

Descending the stone steps, Sandor orders, "Let's go, Stannis is sending us fresh meat."

Sandor notices Lancel Lannister cowering in the corner, reminding him of the day Sansa was beaten. Fury washes over him at the sight of the terrified young man. Recounting Robb Stark's supposed war crimes in front of the court, he was a fucking coward then, too, expecting his Little bird to suffer for her kingly brother's actions. Sandor holds him directly responsible for Joffrey having her stripped and beaten with his ridiculous accusations.

Seeing his opportunity for revenge, Sandor shoves him out from his hiding place and into formation with the rest of his men. "You too," he growls menacingly, laughing wickedly as Lancel gapes in horror. _With any luck the fucking pretty boy will get himself killed within moments of arriving on the battlefield._ Pausing a moment, Sandor spots the captain of the archers. "If any of those flaming fucking arrows come near me, I strangle you with your own guts," He growls, his face mere inches from the intimidated man.

With the first two waves of flaming arrows hissing overhead, Sandor's team of soldiers greet Stannis Baratheon's troops as they breach the shore near the Mud Gate sometime after midnight. "If any man dies with a clean sword, I'll rape his fucking corpse!" He snarls, shoving his men toward the invaders. Adrenaline races through his blood while the entirety of Sandor's anger, frustration and rage at Sansa's mistreatment boils to the surface, unleashing a frightening brutality in the Hound. Drawing on his well of pent-up fury, Sandor slices through men with a single blow of his greatsword, hacking and ripping his way through the enemy with bloody efficiency.

Sandor experiences an eery detachment from his body as he continues his merciless tirade of bloodshed. _Battle fever_ , he recalls Jaime Lannister used to call it, a moment in the heat of battle when the fighting moves in slow motion until there is only the man and his sword moving as one, slaughtering anyone in his path with fluid and deadly precision. A Baratheon soldier alight with fire races toward him, rousing him out of his bloody battle haze and his well honed fear of being burned renders the Hound frozen in his tracks. Awaiting impact, Sandor thinks of Sansa one last time. _I'm sorry I failed you, Little Bird._ Opening his eyes, he sees an arrow fired by Tyrion's sellsword drop the burning man mere feet in front of him, sparing his life.

 _What the fuck am I doing out here?_ He wonders as he takes in the surrounding scene. _Why am I fighting for that little inbred bastard-so he can rape Sansa senseless now that she's had her moonblood and fill her belly with his spawn?_   He should be protecting Sansa, comforting her-not out here fighting to protect Joffrey. Sandor has finally reached the end of the line with the Lannisters, the Baratheons, with King's Landing-with the entire game of thrones. Returning to the Mud Gate, he enters just as the soldiers move to seal off the entrance.

A baby-faced squire not much older than Joffrey runs up to Sandor and hands him a wineskin. Sandor drains the contents before spitting it out with a frown. "Fuck the water. Bring me wine." he demands angrily.

Glaring at the squire, he watches the boy replace his wineskin. Watching the Hound closely, Tyrion knows full well if Sandor abandons the battle the rest of the soldiers will panic and flee.

"May I offer you some iced milk, and a nice bowl of raspberries too?" Tyrion taunts, careful to look Sandor in the face while trying to hide his intense uneasiness from the Hound.

"Eat shit, dwarf," Sandor growls in reply, daring Tyrion to continue.

Noticing Joffrey next to his uncle, Sandor glowers in his direction too. "You're on the wrong side of the wall," Tyrion barks authoritatively, watching the soldiers reaction to Sandor's behavior.

"I lost half my men. The Blackwater's on fire," Sandor rasps the last word, his voice breaking with emotion.

"Dog, I command you to go back out there and fight," Joffrey shrieks at him while pointing toward the gate. Shaking his head slowly, Sandor pauses; the soldiers around him moving away in fear as he struggles to still his fury.

"You are Kingsguard, Clegane. You must beat them back or they are going to take this city-your King's city," Tyrion reminds him, implying the dire consequences of Sandor's behavior should he desert now. After everything Sandor has done in service to the Lannisters and Baratheons, he is enraged they still feel entitled to more of him. He made no vows to them, never accepted their offers for knighthood-he never even wore the armor of the Kingsguard.

"Fuck the city. Fuck the Kingsguard. Fuck the King!" He shouts menacingly at Joffrey, his stormy eyes shining with pure hatred. Remembering Ned Stark's relieved expression when he promised to keep Sansa safe, he turns back toward the castle, determined he will see the one vow he had made in his life through to completion. No one tries to stop him as he heads toward his Little Bird's cage. This time no matter what it takes he will free her once and for all.


	7. The Man of Honor Keeps His Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His heart aches painfully for her and yet Sandor would not blame her if she decides not to go with him. As much as he longs for her, he realizes she will be in grave danger accompanying a craven turncoat of the Lannisters.

Sansa's bed chamber is empty when Sandor arrives during the third quarter of the moon. Drunk and exhausted from battle, he sinks down onto her feather mattress and inhales deeply, relishing her lavender scent on the downy coverlets. Watching the shadows play off the flickering candlelight on the limestone walls, he eagerly anticipates her arrival as he settles in. The room is warm and inviting and so Sandor allows his eyes to close. With the copious amount of wine in his stomach, sleep easily overtakes him.

Shouting comes from the alcove and stairwell to Sansa's room, jolting Sandor from his slumber. Tumbling off the far side of the bed, he draws his short sword and patiently waits. The voices fade off into the distance and Sandor allows himself to relax once more. _Where can she be? She promised she would stay here! Maybe she's changed her mind after all._ It is his darkest fear, that Sansa will refuse to leave the luxuries of King's Landing behind for a life of hardship with him. Unable to bear it, he resolutely pushes the thought from his mind.

His heart aches painfully for her and yet Sandor would not blame her if she decides not to go with him. As much as he longs for her, he realizes she will be in grave danger accompanying a craven turncoat of the Lannisters. No doubt they would spent an indeterminate amount of time as fugitives with untold dangers awaiting them throughout their travels through the battled scarred region. Delicate, beautiful and refined, Sandor knows in his heart Sansa was never meant for the likes of him, the scarred second son of a minor house. His love for her has become all-consuming, reaching into the depths of his soul and Sandor would find it impossible to resent her if indeed she has changed her mind.

Glancing around the distinctly feminine room, his eyes fall on the simple doll her father had given her just before they left Winterfell. Ned's solemn deep voice echoes in Sandor's ears. "I need a man to watch after my dear girl and protect her in King's Landing. You can see she is a delicate and kind child, innocent and trusting. I am asking you to do this-if not for my sake or the prince's-then for her own. Swear to me, Clegane by the old gods and the new-you will protect my beloved Sansa-swear it."

In his current condition he is not sure if it is the wine playing tricks on his mind or if Lord Eddard is reaching out to him from the afterlife. Sandor nevertheless feels compelled to answer the unseen specter. Holding her doll in his bloodied hands for a moment, he rasps softly, "Aye I will watch over her-I keep no gods Lord Eddard but I swear by my sister's grave I will continue to protect Sansa-you have my word."

Short shuffling footsteps approach the room; hiding in the closet, Sandor peeks through the louvered doors and waits once more. The Little bird's foreign handmaiden swiftly enters, latching the door behind her. "Hound?" her soft voice breaks the silence; remaining still, he watches her carefully look around the room. Spying the rumpled bed linen, she smirks and continues, "I have a message from my lady for you. Are you here, Hound?"

Emerging from the closet, Sandor raises his finger to his lips. "Aye woman-no need to shout! You voice sets my head to pounding-what do you want?" He growls, grabbing his throbbing head with both hands and slumping back onto the bed.

Giggling softly, Shae pours water into the wash basin and wrings out a washcloth. Narrowing her eyes at him, she passes the rag to him."Clean yourself up, Clegane-you're covered in soot and blood. Sansa desires me to say she will arrive shortly; she is detained by the queen at present." Raising her eyebrow, Shae archly continues, "I hope you haven't been toying with her my lord-she can barely contain her excitement. Someone has given her the notion she is to leave with you tonight."

Grunting, Sandor averts his eyes, instead focusing on intently scrubbing his hands and face. Does he dare believe her words? Sansa truly wants to leave with him? Earlier she caressed his face as she spoke her promise, and the depth of adoration shining in her lovely eyes had taken his breath away.

Not waiting for a reply, Shae eyes him suspiciously, "I know your kind, Clegane."

Scoffing, Sandor grits his teeth as he faces her. "Aye I'm sure you do at that-don't play the dutiful servant with me. I know Tyrion keeps you here to warm his bed."

Taken aback, Shae collects herself before answering him. "Nevertheless, you best not be planning to take her innocence and then leave her here for the Lannisters! I don't care if you drag her kicking and screaming, you must get her away from Joffrey-we both know she will not survive here much longer."

Impressed she did not bother denying it, Sandor grins at her. "Why does it matter so much to you anyway?"

Defiantly Shae draws closer, lifting her chin as she spits out her words."Sansa-well let's just say she reminds me of someone I once cared for and leave it at that."

Nodding, Sandor chuckles at her sudden change in demeanor. "Fair enough. Anything else?"

Swallowing hard, Shae looks down, choosing her words carefully. "This is-for the two of you," Shae speaks quietly, handing him a glass jar full of a deep green powdery substance. "Please, for the love of the Seven, Clegane, make her drink it until you both are safe."

Unscrewing the lid, Sandor inhales the heady scent, bursting into harsh laughter as he recognizes the earthy aroma of moon tea.

"Quiet! Someone will hear you!" Shae reproves, though a knowing smile spreads across her face.

Sobering up, Sandor's face twitches into a lopsided grin and he tightens the lid back on the jar. Struggling for words, he is ill-prepared to express his gratitude for this precautionary gift. "You're a smart one at that. I owe you one-we both do," he finally says and then reaches into his belt. Withdrawing a abalone handled knife, he wipes it off on his pant leg and then hands it to Shae.

"Take it, just in case the castle is overrun-you can protect yourself, at least. I dare say you already know how to use it."

Laughing softly, Shae accepts his offering, tucking it into sash. "Aye, you're a smart one yourself." Turning to leave, she smiles and says, "I will say a prayer for you both-who knows, the gods may listen to a sinner after all!"

Barking out a laugh, he shakes his head. "Watch yourself, now."

Winking, she replies, "I always do, my lord," before closing the door behind her.

Settling back onto the foot of the bed, Sandor gazes out as the green glow of wildfire consumes Blackwater Bay. Reassured by Shae's words, Sandor smiles in spite of himself. Soft footsteps patter on the stone steps outside and quickly Sansa enters the room, slamming the door and bolting the lock behind her. Sighing with relief, she leans against it for a moment before walking toward the chest of drawers. "The ladies starting to panic?" Sandor rasps to announce his presence.

Whirling around in fear, she gasps then quickly smiles as she recognizes it is Sandor waiting for her. Running into his arms, the couple tumbles back onto her bed as Sansa covers his face and neck with kisses, ignoring the smokey stench of wildfire that permeates his person.

"Thank the gods you are safe my love! I prayed for you all night!" Tears of joy cover her cheeks and Sansa finds herself running her hands through his hair, unable to stop touching him in her sudden relief. "What are you doing here already? I expected you would still be on the battlefield."

Holding her tightly in his arms, Sandor is once again consumed by doubt and insecurity. Is this beautiful highborn maiden before him really prepared to give up a life of luxury for him, the scarred Hound? The precariousness of his position overshadows her undeniable affection for him.

"Not here for long, I'm going. North might be, could be," he sneaks a sideways glance her direction, trying to gauge her response to his words.

Pulling away Sansa frowns suddenly, confusion clouding her lovely features. _Has he changed his mind after all? Is he not taking me with him?_ Searching his face for an answer she sees longing, desperation, even despair combined with intense love and desire darkening his slate gray eyes. Understanding spreads through her mind: unwilling to assume she is willing to leave, he needs to hear her say once again that she loves him and chooses to go with him, no matter the risk, before he takes her away.

Sandor's heart pounds with fear stronger than he ever experienced in battle as he shyly offered his next words. "I could take you with me, I'll keep you safe. Do you want to go home?" Sickened with worry she will reject him, Sandor waits for her reply on tenterhooks.

Moments pass as Sansa stares into his eyes, her heart filling with love for this brave honorable man, who loves her with fierce devotion and yet his lifetime of insecurity still renders him unsure of her commitment to him. Caressing his face tenderly, she whispers, "I want nothing more than to be with you, my love, and to spend my life loving you. Of course I will go with you! Did you ever doubt it?" Tears fill her eyes, saddened with the knowledge he deeply fears she will no longer want him once she is free. Reassuring him of her love the only way she knows how, she covers his mouth in a deep kiss, slowly running her tongue along his own, eliciting a guttural moan from him in response.

The serious expression returns to his face as he pulls away from her. "Sansa, listen to me-I can't take you for my own and then hand you over to some fucking lord so your brother will have more men for the war, understand? I want you for my wife or not at all-damn it, I can't bear it any other way." Laughing bitterly, he looks down at their entwined fingers as he speaks. "You and I both know your family will never allow you to marry a low born Lannister dog. You will lose your family if you go with me, is that what you want?"

"Sandor, you may find this hard to believe but though I do not wish to be alienated from my family I have made my choice-I only want to be with you." Sighing, she covers his hands with hers and kisses each tenderly before continuing. "Robb left me here with Joffrey to pursue his war-he is a king now and makes decisions accordingly. You must not think I am unaware of how things will go with him, should I return to them while he is king of the north. Believe me when I say we need not go to my family my love, I will follow you wherever you go," she whispers next to his ear before continuing to kiss him.

 _Does she truly understand what leaving with me will mean for her? No more servants and fancy meals? No one waiting on her? _Marrying me will affect her in ways she cannot understand.__ "Even if I had never served the enemies of your family, I am not ignorant to the fact that I am far too low born for you. You will lose your station being with me, have you thought of that?"

Sansa places her finger on his lips, gently silencing him. "Don't speak of yourself like this, Sandor. I am no longer that little girl you remember in Winterfell and I am through allowing others to make decisions for me. I refuse to accept being passed around as a bargaining tool, sold to the highest bidder so my brother can secure the allegiance of others. I love you and more than anything I want be your wife, if you will have me," she answers softly before kissing him once more.

Sandor pulls away from her, searching her eyes carefully, "Will I have you?" He asks incredulously. "Fuck girl, you are all I ever wanted." Pulling her tightly to his chest Sandor chokes back his tears, wishing he had the words to express his feelings to her. "We'll marry as soon as we can, I promise." Pausing, he asks, "Are you ready to give up everything you are entitled to for me, truly Sansa?" He feels his strength failing him, still fearing her reply despite her reassuring words.

"I no longer care for any of that nonsense-let us leave it behind us when we go and speak of it no more. Whatever may come, we'll face it together-I will gain everything I ever wanted with you my love. Yes, a thousand times, yes, I will go with you and be your wife!" She laughs, throwing her arms around him. "You have honored your vow to me when no one else did and I love you for it. I am sure my father is pleased in the afterlife-he will help us, I know it!"

Joy mingled with disbelief fills Sandor's heart; it is the first time he has ever known such love and happiness in his entire life. "Then let's get the fuck out of here, Little bird," he growls, kissing her deeply and holding her close before whispering, "I love you Sansa."

Smiling, she whispers her reply in his ear, "I am yours as you are mine, Sandor. I will love you forever."

Squeezing her close, he places a tender kiss on her lips before leading her out the door of her cage one last time to their freedom-and their future.

The End-Epilogue to Follow :)


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filling their new home with the love and happiness his own childhood was lacking at Clegane Keep, Sandor found a mental and emotional healing in the love of his wife and children and surprised himself by settling into family life with ease. Grateful for all that his life has become, he returns the family to Winterfell regularly and never fails to meditate on the promise he made Sansa's father long ago.

Gazing through the frost covered window panes, Sandor stands in the spacious solar overlooking the snow covered training yard of Winterfell and recollects the first time he stood in this room. Watching Sansa play with the children, he marvels at the distance they have traveled together since the fateful day he vowed his protection to her father. In keeping his promise to Ned, Sandor has found the honor within him, which has proven invaluable in surviving the daunting challenges his family has faced since that day long ago.

They have been everywhere it seems, he and his Little Bird, trying to evade the Lannisters and Baratheons. Through the dense forests of the Riverlands and onward to Maidenpool then struggling through the jagged terrain of the Vale, Sandor and Sansa traveled many hard miles to find a safe haven. Quite by accident the couple discovered a small group of the Hill tribes that actually honored him due to his fearsome burns and treated them with distinguishment and offered protection. Living in a small rustic cabin, he and Sansa spent two seasons among the clansmen, where they enjoyed relative anonymity and peace in the rugged mountains of the Vale.

Hunting near the Eyrie on day, Sandor discovered a godswood full of weirwood trees and immediately returned with Sansa, eager to finally be able to wed in front of the old gods. Thinking of that day always brings a smile to his face: the hauntingly beautiful godswood had just been covered in a light dusting of snow and golden beams of sunlight filtered through the weirwood trees, lending the forest an otherworldly glow.

Reciting her vows, Sansa had never looked more beautiful, though she wore a simple green woolen gown and an orange and white fox fur he made for her. Glowing with inner happiness, she smiled brilliantly the entire time as did he, if he is honest with himself. They joined hands under the Heart tree and as they sealed their bond with a kiss, large snowflakes began slowly drifting down onto the godswood. Laughing happily with snowflakes in her hair, he remembers Sansa excitedly claim it was a sign from her father indicating he was pleased with their union.

Watching his beloved bride catch snowflakes on her tongue, Sandor's heart had never known such joy in his entire life. They returned to their cabin for their wedded meal and afterward Sandor finally allowed himself to take Sansa as his own. Their lovemaking had been tender, passionate and beautiful-more than anything he imagined in his most fevered dreams. He thought his heart may burst from love and contentment. As he held her against his chest afterward, they clung to each other as both shed tears of joy; finally everything they had wished and prayed for had come true at long last. Sandor has enjoyed replaying their wedding day many times in his mind over the years.

Undeterred by the futile search efforts of the first party of soldiers, Petyr Baelish convinced Tywin to send his brother Gregor and an assortment of sellswords and bounty hunters after the couple, eventually driving them south toward the Saltpans. It was there that Sandor finally made his stand and faced his monstrous brother in a fight to the death. In the end it was not his skill as a fighter, brutal battle tactics, nor was his hatred for Gregor allowed him to triumph-it was his abiding love for Sansa, his desire to protect her and keep her safe. Severely wounded and now branded a kinslayer throughout the Seven Kingdoms Sandor and Sansa eventually undertook the perilous journey to the Quiet Isle.

Arriving exhausted at the sept one late autumn afternoon the brothers of the Seven warmly welcomed them and listened to their plight with compassion. After praying over the couple the septon decided executing Gregor Clegane, rescuing Sansa and ending his brother's reign of terror over the Riverlands counted as acts of contrition and on the basis of this Sandor is granted permission to stay on the Isle with Sansa.

As the orange afternoon sun set over the water of the Bay of Crabs, Elder Brother married them once again in the sight of the Seven, allowing them to stay at the sept as man and wife, sheltered for the duration of the War of the Five Kings. Throughout their stay, Sandor continued to protect Sansa, killing anyone that would harm her. Further, he even went as far as protecting her life and the future of their unborn children by preventing her pregnancy, always finding a way to provide her with moon tea despite the High Septon's ban of the substance.

While they were in hiding, the brothers on the Quiet Isle trained Sandor as a blacksmith and thus he was able to provide for their material needs. His Little Bird meant her words to him and proved her devotion by never complaining or longing for past luxuries. Instead she surprised him by gladly taking up sewing work for the brothers and at the suggestion of Elder Brother while disguising her identity, Sansa set about selling her lace and needlework to travelers providing them with extra income and enabling them to assist others in need arriving at the sept.

Having lost her family, his poor Little Bird was the lone wolf for a long while. One stormy night brought Arya to the Quiet Isle looking for her sister, unrecognizable now as a woman grown. Staying up until dawn she related her adventures since escaping Kings Landing and Sansa relived every detail of her sister's harrowing experience, shouting angrily and crying bitterly by turns.

Sansa recounted her own ordeal and the tears of both sisters poured forth, holding and comforting each other in the way only flesh and blood can. To Sansa's shock and Sandor's amusement, Arya revealed that in order to evade her enemies, she eventually stole away to Braavos and extensively trained under the guild of Faceless Men as an assassin, assisted by her friend Jaqen H'gar.

By the onset of the long foretold winter, Sansa and Arya were reunited with Rickon and Bran, long thought murdered at the hands of Theon Greyjoy. Tracked extensively for many miles by Nymeria, Arya discovered them hiding with Summer and Shaggydog among the Wildings. They had been preserved alive by Hodor, Osha and the Reeds for the duration of the war and Arya and Sansa rewarded their loyalty with places of honor and inheritance among the surviving Starks of Winterfell.

Arya's friend Gendry, bastard son and rightful heir of Robert Baratheon, came to Winterfell to return Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail to the Starks. Using his knowledge as a blacksmith, he reforged the two Valyrian swords back into Lord Eddard's greatsword Ice and stayed in an effort to win Arya's hand in marriage. Once the family restored Winterfell to a working castle once more, Arya insisted on hunting down Theon and Asha Greyjoy for the crimes against their family. Sandor accompanied her at Sansa's request and after months of searching the pair found them prisoners of Stannis Baratheon.

Stealthily entering Stannis' chambers one night, Arya held a knife to his throat and demanded he turn the Greyjoys over for trial. Recognizing the need for an alliance with Jon as Lord Commander on the Wall, Stannis reluctantly agreed and placed Theon and Asha into their custody, then hurriedly consulted with the red priestess Melisandre. Upon learning of Arya's training as a Faceless Man, she advised Stannis be grateful they were spared and allow Arya and Sandor go in peace, only requesting that she spare Euron as a potential consort to Queen Daenerys.

Soon after, Arya and Sandor captured the remaining Greyjoys and return to Winterfell. Bran assembled the remnants of the Stark banner men for the Greyjoy's trials. Finding them guilty of sedition, murder and betrayal, as Bran's representative, Arya publicly executed Theon, Asha and the rest of the Greyjoys in front of the Heart tree at Winterfell using Ice, just as their father Lord Eddard would have done. Though Sansa only bore it as a necessary course for justice, Sandor was proud of the little wolf bitch and acknowledged her actions honored her father, brother and mother.

Enlisting Jon's help as Lord Commander on the Wall, Queen Daenerys secured the northmen's support for her reign by appointed him Warden of the North in honor of his father. Once the Wall collapsed, with Jon and Arya by her side, Daenerys rained dragon fire upon the invading army of undead, eliminating the threat of their return once and for all and awarded Jon and his family possession of the north for their loyalty.

To Sandor and Sansa she awarded Castle Black, allowing Sandor to serve as Warden of the north under Jon as King on the Wall. As much as she loved Winterfell, Sansa was happy to have a distinguished home the Cleganes could call their own. When spring blossomed early for the Seven Kingdoms, Sandor and Sansa decided it was safe to start their family and their children came soon after-sons Sandor Jr. and Robb followed by their delicate daughter Sarah. With Sansa's fiery hair and Sandor's deep gray eyes, they named her after Sandor's beloved sister, who diligently cared for him after he was burned.

Rebuilding Castle Black has given him a sense of fulfillment and joy, knowing he is providing a secure new beginning for his family. Filling their new home with the love and happiness his own childhood was lacking at Clegane Keep, Sandor found a mental and emotional healing in the love of his wife and children and surprised himself by settling into family life with ease. Grateful for all that his life has become, he returns the family to Winterfell regularly and never fails to meditate on the promise he made Sansa's father long ago.

Now a parent himself, Sandor realizes the magnitude of the tremendous task Ned entrusted to him. As he watches the children play in the snowy training yard below, Sandor remembers his good father and almost feels his presence there as he leans against the great weirwood desk. Never a man to believe in the gods, he occasionally finds himself wondering if Lord Eddard indeed watches over them as Sansa has always faithfully believed. Whether this is true or not does not matter; Sandor is deeply grateful to him for all that he has brought into his life.

Pulling Sandor close to her, Sansa reaches her small arms around his waist as she looks up at him. "Do you have a moment for me, Husband?" she asks with a smile and a familiar twinkle in her eye. She is in her second moon of being with child, a time Sandor has delightedly learned increases her passion for him all the more. "Hodor is with the children, let us steal away for a bit my love," she whispers, pulling him by the jerkin toward her childhood room with a naughty gleam in her eye.

Long ago Sandor believed only fools and dead men behaved with honor. Yet it is honor that has led him away from his violent past to this happy peaceful place so dear to his heart. As he carefully lays his beautiful wife onto their bed he pauses a moment to gaze at her, grateful for the love and family she has brought to his life. Covering her mouth in a long kiss, Sandor decides honor indeed has its rewards after all.


	9. Update

Thank you for reading my story. I have added a sequel to A Man of Honor entitled **Winterfell's Daughter Returns**. I hope you like it, and reviews and concrit are always welcome. :D


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